


words, words, words

by mrsronweasley



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: D/s, Double Penetration, M/M, Restraints, subspace/headspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsronweasley/pseuds/mrsronweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had begged for it, pleaded with words and body, wheedling kisses from Nick's worried lips. He'd breathed Nick's frown apart, little by little, bit his way across Nick's neck and through his misgivings. </p><p>"C'mon, I want it," he'd whispered into Nick's chest, fingers fumbling the checked shirt open, button by button, releasing Nick's skin from the fabric. "Don't you want to give me what I want?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	words, words, words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the subspace/headspace square in kink_bingo. 
> 
> Huge, HUGE thanks to Mistresscurvy for her thoughts and beta, and to Sunsetmog for her super-speedy and super-thorough Britpick and encouragements. <3 Ladies <3
> 
> (Please heed the tags!)

Harry had begged for it, pleaded with words and body, wheedling kisses from Nick's worried lips. He'd breathed Nick's frown apart, little by little, bit his way across Nick's neck and through his misgivings. 

"C'mon, I want it," he'd whispered into Nick's chest, fingers fumbling the checked shirt open, button by button, releasing Nick's skin from the fabric. "Don't you want to give me what I want?" He'd pouted and swept his hair away from his eyes, the way he knew made Nick lick his lips, eyelashes fluttering upwards to catch Harry's gaze, no matter what. Harry could set his clock by it. "Been thinking about it forever," he'd added, holding Nick's gaze.

Now, his face buried in Nick's pillow, smelling of Nick's aftershave and his shampoo, and just a bit the way his neck sometimes smelt of sweat and man, Harry clutched at the sheets, waiting. 

Nick was still nervous, he could tell, but playing the part, too. Harry knew how to manipulate – and Nick always did want to give him what he wanted. 

"What's your safe word," Nick said behind him, again, third time he's asked, his finger slowly opening Harry up, like sweet torture, just this side of rough, because Harry'd asked for it that way. "C'mon, Haz, say it." Nick's voice was shot already, a rasp, flat around his tongue. 

"Pom- pompadour," Harry breathed out, biting his lip at the thickness of two fingers now, spreading him apart. 

"Good boy."

It wasn't possible, he didn't think, but he could still tell which of Nick's fingers were working him over. Nick's hands, when not otherwise occupied, were always just this side of loose. Something about the length of his fingers, maybe, but they didn't look like they could hold onto anything securely, were always filled with air. Something purposeless about them, like a kid's. 

But then there was this; there was them. Right now, Nick's hands were sure, slick, setting Harry's skin oh-so-languidly on fire. His thumb, his index finger, and now the middle one. Harry shut his eyes and felt Nick's pinky brushing his balls every time he slipped in and out, catching on the skin there. It wasn't exactly pleasant, something off about it, but it kept Harry grounded. Nick's pinky was the only finger that was trembling just the smallest bit. 

Nick's other hand rested firmly on Harry's bum, keeping him still, open, pinning him in place. The way Harry liked. 

Harry'd had a double shot of whisky before they'd started, and forced one on Nick, too. Had to get him relaxed. He felt anything but right now, knowing what he'd asked for.

He'd cleared his diary for it, too, aware enough that he'd probably want to spend a good part of tomorrow lying on his stomach; he hoped he would. 

"C'mon," he urged, attempting to lift his bum up higher, send an unsubtle signal at Nick to get on with it.

Instead, he got a slap that burned for a bright second, and a shush. "You're not in charge right now," Nick breathed, right into Harry's ear, and Harry hadn't even felt him move. A slick bead of sweat ran down his back where their skin now met. Nick's treasure trail tickled Harry's lower back, dragged in a way that over-sensitised him. Harry swallowed. "Do you want the cuffs? Or will you stay still?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He'd wavered on that bit, hadn't really made up his mind either way. Had said, "I'll let you know."

Now he thought he knew. "Y-yes." He swallowed around his dry tongue. 

"Yes cuffs, or yes you'll stay still?" Nick asked. His voice was firm, but Harry sort of knew better. 

"Cuffs." Harry cleared his throat. "Please."

A slightest brush of Nick's breath against his neck, then cool emptiness all down his back. Nick's fingers withdrew. 

He felt suspended for a long moment, alone on the bed. Nick was a diva, his bed always had the nicest sheets on it. These were pale blue, John Lewis' finest, according to the label. Normally, it was like sleeping on a cloud. Right now, Harry's cheek burned whenever he shifted his head, his knees digging against the mattress like it was concrete, no give. 

The cuffs he'd bought himself, simple black leather – enough settings even for Nick's delicately small wrists, but right now, they weren't for Nick.

"All right," Nick breathed, "You ready?" 

Harry swallowed again and nodded, his hair dragging against his sweaty forehead, stuck between him and the pillow. 

One cuff, then the next, then the chain. _Click_. Harry tugged automatically, just to see. The chain was barely three inches apart, tight. His hands clutched air. 

"Now, remember who's in charge here," Nick warned him and ran a hand up Harry's spine, pressing down when he got to his neck. Harry's throat made an involuntary groan, escaping his mouth. He could feel the warmth of his own breath, held tight against the pillow. "Yes? Say it, Harry." Nick's other hand descended down to tickle Harry's balls, making him squirm. "Who is in charge of you?"

"You," Harry said, barely audible, muffled on the pillow. "You are."

"Good," Nick said, and he really did sound firmer now, smoother. "Good boy."

Harry shivered and lost himself in Nick's hand on his neck, pressing down, and Nick's free fingers, slowly slipping back inside him, thumb and index and middle, all at once. He bit his lip and stifled his cry. Yeah. _Yeah._

He thought he felt just the slightest hesitation on the next push in, but then Nick was slipping back in, four fingers, rough and certain, all business, and Harry's dick jumped against his stomach, trapped in the sheet. Lube dripped down his thighs, Nick was generous. "Fucking hell," he breathed. The cuffs were already getting damp on the side, rough, and in the way. He bore down and breathed through the slightest panic in his belly. 

"D- d'you need a moment?" Nick asked. He was quieter now, but still in charge, Harry thought. Which was good. It was really, really good, because Harry was quickly losing it. 

"'M – no. No, go on, c'mon." 

Nick didn't respond, and withdrew all fingers at once. Harry's arse gave a twinge of pain, then he was empty again. He moaned his displeasure, unable to find words. 

"Shh," Nick said behind him, then Harry heard the rustle of the condom. One rustle for Nick's dick. One for the next bit. He could feel his dick drooling onto the sheet, and his mouth mimicked it, saliva gathering at the thought of it. He was all arousal, anticipation. Things that began with "a," he thought nonsensically. _Arid, awaiting, awoken. Acumen._

Nick's dick nudged against his balls and all words scattered inside Harry's head. Nick's hand landed in his hair, fingers scratching idly through, then tugging until Harry couldn't help but follow the movement back. He felt Nick's treasure trail and belly brush against his hands.

"Breathe, love," Nick commanded, his mouth once again so close to Harry's ear, shivers ran down his back. "You're doing good. So good, yeah?" 

Inasmuch as he could move his head, Harry nodded, giving out another involuntary groan, tight against his throat. 

"You're ready for me, aren't you?" Nick's hips gave a twitch forward, dick catching on Harry's balls, drawing them up even more. One of these days, he was going to spread his thighs open and invite Nick's dick for a bit of play just there, just against that spot, a spot that made Harry want to fuck so hard, but without the actual fucking bit. He licked his lips.

"Hazza –"

"Mmph," Harry managed. "Yeah. Yes."

Nick gripped Harry's side and slid right the fuck in. 

This part was always good. Nick was thick, hard for him, fucking hot. Familiar, too, in a way that made it better, because Nick knew exactly what Harry needed. He needed him to move, slow, rough, extending the pull-out a little, making him squirm. Then a fast fuck in, and over and over again. Harry loved the line of Nick's hipbone, liked to rest his fingers on the indent as he sucked him off, and he fancied that the seeing-to Nick would give him was partly responsible for that definition. Fuck your way to defined abs – Harry could patent that.

Not just at the moment, though. At the moment, he could barely hold onto his skin as it flamed against his muscle and bone. He thought maybe he'd melt, because Nick was fucking him hard, stern-like, fingers dug into Harry's hip and neck, pinning him in place. Harry could taste the salty sweat of his own lip where he bit into it, tongue playing against it, attempting to focus on things like not tensing his abs or shoulders, but allowing himself to be taken over. He kept forgetting to breathe then releasing it all at once, the sound jagged and hard in the quiet. 

Maybe that was the hardest part of what he'd wanted – being taken over. He thought it'd come easy, he loved bottoming for Nick, always had, ever since the first time. This, though, felt different. For one, he couldn't move, not even his fingers, frozen into clammy fists behind his back. His toes felt numb, curled in, sweating. For another, this wasn't just an ordinary fuck, even with the cuffs. 

This was foreplay.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't rush it, promised Nick, really, because Nick had worried about him. But it was difficult remembering that promise. He was too close, already. 

"Fuck," he breathed out. The hot pressure of Nick's hand on his neck made him shiver and he waited, and let go, and waited.

Nick was bloody thorough. That was another weird revelation, because he was such a flighty person in general. The only thing he ever got serious about, really, was his work. He'd lose himself in it, whether it was the radio shows, or the gigs he DJ'ed. He'd get this serious expression on his face, it almost changed him. Harry found it kind of mesmerizing, actually. But sex with Nick was always fun. He tended to laugh through his orgasms, voice high and hitching, a lovely smile playing around his lips, giggles readily escaping. 

Harry couldn't see his face now, couldn't see much of anything, but he'd bet his life on Nick not smiling. His breath was too harsh in the quiet, his hips too hard in their slap against Harry's arse. Harry felt like they'd been fucking for hours, and his scalp prickled with anticipation, more, he wanted _more_.

But more than that, he wanted for Nick to give it to him.

So he waited, even as the coiling in his belly and his balls began to build, a tight spiral of losing control contracting with each single movement. Harry bit his lip, hard, _hard_ , because he didn't want it to be over before they'd even got started, no, he had to _wait_ \- 

"Do it, love. You can come," Nick whispered behind him, hand ever-tightening on his neck, fingers clawing his hip. "You'll get hard again, I know you." He paused, audibly swallowed. "I'll make you."

Harry whimpered, his lip bitten raw, his teeth clenched so, so tight.

"C'mon, babe," Nick urged, then leaned down until his elbow was digging into Harry's back, a spike of pain mixing with the roiling of his orgasm, just on the brink. _Fuck._ "Let me make you feel so good." 

Nick's breath hit Harry's skin, lighting it on fire, and Harry sobbed as he came the very next moment, shaking beneath him, trembling down to his bones, his toes, his heart shuddering against his ribcage. He came long and hard, Nick fucking him through it, the same sweet slow torture, hand a vice grip on Harry's neck, still, this whole bloody time. 

Harry couldn't catch his breath, because Nick – Nick wasn't stopping. He kept fucking him, slow, gorgeous, and, from one moment to the next, painfully and just too fucking much. Harry shook, his hands attempting to grip any part of Nick they could catch, but he kept catching damp air, and the occasional wisp of a treasure trail. Nick kept eluding him. 

He knew he could do it – could say the word, and Nick would stop; immediately. But that hadn't been what he had wanted, and now, completely under Nick and his sudden, inexplicable control, he didn't want to, either, not at all. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling how limp his dick was, and took it, sore bum and all. For a long stretch of time, he floated – pain, with pleasure beneath it, him beneath _Nick_ , and then the pressure on his hip lifted, and Nick slipped his hand until he had Harry's dick in a grip, and began to work him over. The movement, the sensation, sharpened Harry's mind, bringing him back to himself, enough to hear Nick's words flowing around him.

"I know you can do this, Hazza," Nick said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've done it before, been such a good boy, getting hard for me." 

Harry let out a noise that he couldn't classify if he tried and felt his fingers unclench, just the smallest bit, just enough that every time Nick moved behind him, Harry could meet his skin with his palms. 

Nick went on talking, like he had no idea what his voice was doing to Harry. Or maybe like he _did_. "You can be a good boy for me, again. You can rise to the occasion, can't you?"

Harry couldn't have stopped the snigger if he'd tried. He could tell Nick was grinning behind him from the sound of his voice. Nick could never let a good dick pun go, but neither could Harry. "Yeah, you can. So good, you can be so hard for me."

A gentle kiss to Harry's shoulder, another tug on his dick, still wet from when he'd come all over himself, and Harry's belly kick-started, as bidden. Instead of chafed and over-sensitised, he revved into turned-on, his dick sparking with each thrust Nick gave him. 

"Yeah," Nick breathed against him. "So good, Hazza, so fucking hot."

Harry lost track of time again. Nick wanked him slow and firm, patient, almost gentle with it. He grew harder, more turned on, more desperate, his desperation switching on synapses in his brain that had asked for this in the first place. God, he'd been thinking about it so much, for so long. Wanting to be fucked, but not _just_ fucked. 

Fucked out of his bloody mind, fucked so full, he'd be impaled, filled up, manhandled, to within an inch of his life. 

His skin prickled everywhere, blood boiling beneath it. God, he was so close to what he'd asked for. He didn’t want to say it, he'd asked to give up that control, but it was bloody hard, it turned out. He wanted with his whole entire body, longed in the stretched out moment of Nick working him over and behind, waiting it out, driving him insane.

"Good boy, got so hard for me so fast," Nick breathed behind him. A shudder ran all down Harry's back. "Gonna reward you now. Give you what you want, yeah?"

Harry panted, his tongue too thick in his mouth. God, _yes_. 

"Say it, Harry. Say you want it, tell me to do it," Nick commanded. His voice grew firm again, harsh, _loud_ in the quiet room.

Harry whined, then forced his tongue to move. "Do it," he managed, hands brushing against the taut surface of Nick's belly, hard where it normally had give. 

"Do what, Harold," Nick asked. "What's the magic word?"

Harry wanted to cry from frustration, he didn't – he couldn't – 

"Do you want help, love? Want me to say it and you nod?" 

Harry nodded, a weird short sob escaping his lips. He felt like he was on fire. 

"All right. Do you want me to add the dildo? To keep fucking you and add it?" Nick asked. Through his own beating drum of a heart, Harry could hear how smooth that had come out, and was sort of amazed, because his own tongue couldn't have made those words if he'd tried.

He swallowed around his dry throat and managed a, "Yes. Please." God, his voice was nearly gone in the rasp. Everything, everything ached, and all he wanted was _more, more, more_.

Nick's hips stuttered, just for a moment, for the briefest of seconds, but that was enough for Harry. Pleasure stretched across his face, tipping into a smile, and hid it in the pillow, chewed on it just to give his lips a break. 

"Good boy," Nick said before moving slightly away.

For a moment, he panicked – was Nick going to pull out before getting the dildo, was Harry going to have to get used to it all at once, again? _Will you be able to trust me?_ Nick had asked before they'd got started, when Harry had been wheedling him into giving in, begging for it, assuring him he'd be all right. Harry had told him, _of course_.

Now he felt the full weight of that question, bearing down on him as he lay there, legs falling asleep, prickling beneath him, hands tied behind his back, in the dark, a pillow muffling his voice.

The next moment, Nick draped over him once more and said, "Hazza, are you completely sure you want this?" It didn't sound like play. It sounded like _Nick._ Harry couldn't get his head to nod fast enough. 

"Yes," he mumbled, drooling into the pillow before turning his head the slightest bit and repeating, "Yes. Please, please, Nick, please –"

"All right," Nick whispered and touched his lips to Harry's. He tasted a little salty, and a lot like fucking. "All right," he repeated and slipped Harry his tongue, for the briefest of moments. Harry moaned against it, greedy for more of Nick's mouth, wanting to bury himself in it. What a fucking mental thought.

Nick withdrew again. Harry's life had narrowed down to the moments when Nick was with him and then no longer in his sight. It ached, even if he could still feel his skin against his own. Harry squeezed his eyes again, sweat making them burn. He tried to wipe them on the pillow, but then he forgot all about his eyes because he'd felt it, a new pressure against his arsehole, and against Nick's dick.

"You have to breathe really, really deep now, all right?" Nick said, his slippery hand spidering out across Harry's arse and petting him, just a little shaky. "Try to relax. You have to relax, all right?"

Harry had no idea how to do that. He was stretched full just by Nick's dick, and what the hell had he been thinking? His fingers clutched into fists, his throat closed up. 

"Harry, Hazza – breathe, baby, breathe." Nick's voice was right up against his ear, his body covering Harry's own. Nick snuck a hand up and tilted Harry's chin until they were eye to eye. 

Harry's safe word hung between them, unspoken. 

Nick leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet. Briefly, Harry wondered how Nick hadn't come yet, still slid all the way inside him, hard as a rock. 

"You can do this, darling," Nick whispered once he pulled away. "You want it, don't you?"

Harry whined and shifted his hips as much as he could. Then he nodded. 

"You don't want to stop?"

Harry slowly shook his head, squeezing sweat from his eyes. Nick shifted and gently wiped Harry's eyes with a finger, first one, then the other. Harry breathed out, some tension going out of him. 

"Good. You are so, so good right now," Nick whispered, his gaze traveling between Harry's eyes and mouth, eyelashes fluttering. Harry felt hypnotised, stuck in this place, pinned by Nick's dick and his eyes, his heart longing to please him. "You want to be good for me, don't you?" Nick asked and pressed a thumb to Harry's open mouth, then slipped it inside. 

Harry couldn't help the moan, licked at it, closed his lips around it. "Yeah." For a second, Nick's voice hitched, broke apart, and it was like a switch being flipped. 

Harry was hard and he was ready. 

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, low in his diaphragm, like he was singing. He breathed out through his nose, around Nick's thumb, and did it again. Bit by bit, he felt his shoulders slumping where he hadn't wanted them tense, felt his hands unclenching, catching bits of Nick's sweaty skin. God, he loved Nick's belly. It was weird, probably, but he loved burying his face in it after blowing him, so relaxed and satisfied.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Nick whispered before slipping his thumb out and stroking Harry's hair back off his forehead. Harry smiled at him and shut his eyes. If he was a cat, he'd definitely be purring. "I think you're ready, aren't you? I'll add a few fingers, first, get you ready. Yeah?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah," he said after another sweet moment of Nick petting his hair. "Mmm. Yeah."

"What's the magic word?" Nick asked, a tease hovering between them. 

"Please," Harry managed, and smiled, opening his eyes. Their gazes caught and Nick was just so pretty when he smiled. 

"Good boy."

Harry grinned and wiggled, forcing Nick's hand right into the crease of his arse. He couldn't tell Nick to get on with it, but he could definitely encourage the progress. 

Nick was smart. He always got these things. 

Harry felt the bed shifting under Nick's weight, felt his body move up until they were only connected by dick and arse, and then his grin slipped off his face. 

Yeah, all right. Here we go. 

"Just remember to breathe, baby," Nick told him. "I'll go slow."

Harry breathed. He felt Nick pull out what felt like halfway, and then a single finger, stretching him wide, so wide. His breath caught in his throat and he willed it to push through; he just needed to breathe. His movement and sight gone in the cuffs and the pillow, he could only breathe and bear down and _breathe._ Nick was murmuring, words Harry couldn't actually make out, but the sounds of it scattered across his skin, soothing, placating. Harry breathed through the second finger, breathed as his body took something he'd known it could, but in this moment was awed by. It was too much. It was _so much_. A sob hiccupped its way out of his mouth and he bit his lip, shifting on the pillow, unable to keep his head still. 

God, God, God, it was _so much_ , and so slow, and so _much._  


"So good, you're being so good," Nick mumbled behind him, smoothing away the tension with a free hand, all down Harry's back, along the bumps of his spine, up and down and up and down until a third finger slipped and Harry gasped, gutted to the core, trembling now, shaking apart. 

"Fuck," Nick bit out. "So – so good, sweetheart. Shh." He kept petting him even as he fucked him harder, fingers and dick, and Harry swam out of time and place.

And then there it was, the slippery blunt pressure of the dildo Harry had bought for himself replacing Nick's fingers slowly, and just as slowly stretching him out. Absurdly, he pictured its ridiculous bright pink shaft next to Nick's dark hard cock, running between Nick's fingers pulling out, and that was the last semi-coherent thought he had.

It was pain, and it was impossibility. He felt his throat close up at the same time as his body began to slowly accept the intrusion, because his body knew what he wanted. Ache formed on the inside, burning, and on the outside, the crescents of Nick's short nails digging into the side of Harry's hip, leaving bright red stings in the backs of his eyelids. He felt the apology in Nick's touch the next moment, his hand smoothing away the hurt, letting it recede. 

Nick's voice was talking to him, probably words – Harry couldn't tell. He knew he was whining, high in his throat, but he hadn't made the decision to, it was just happening to him, like he was a puppet and Nick was holding his strings.

 _Bye, bye, bye_ , he thought, like a mental person, and focused on that as Nick slid the dildo further and further in, so much deeper than his fingers had been able to reach – _don't wanna beeee a foool in this gaaame for twooo_ \- and automatically bore down to take in more, _more_ , God, it hurt, he wanted _more_.

Was he humming something to himself? He couldn't tell – the sound was coming from around his general vicinity, but all he could feel, really, was his arse, the only focal point that was sending any signals to whatever was left of his brain.

He thought he could maybe hear Nick's voice, but there was a rushing in his ears, and it couldn't have been bad, really, because Nick was still sliding the dildo in – and in – and Harry thought he was sobbing now. If he'd had the freedom to, he'd have been clawing at the sheets, but he clawed at air and at Nick and at air and at Nick instead, his voice muffled in the pillow, no air coming in anywhere, he was suffocating on pain and pleasure, both fighting for control.

God, it stung, it was so fucking _good_ -

"Don’t stop, don't stop, don't stop." Was that him? Maybe, probably, maybe not, maybe he was still singing whilst being fucked by his boyfriend and dildo at the same time, he had no fucking clue. 

Sobbing, wordless now, and boneless, he didn't know where he was anymore. Everything sped up, and he was spinning, but maybe it was the room. He floated, a tinny sound in his ears – someone had once told him that if you hear a high pitch in your ears, it's a pitch you'll never hear again, like a part of you dying – that couldn't be right – he heard that sound all the time. Maybe it was a different frequency, maybe he was like a dog, hearing pitches no one else could hear – maybe –

His entire body sang with it, now, his skin on fire, waves of pleasure like dominos, toppling against each other, cresting over, again and again. He was being melted from the inside out, gross sobbing and wailing and all, and he was covered in sweat, everywhere, slippery and hot and boneless. His dick weighed him down, it rubbed against the sheets, the rough, rough sheets, and Harry thought, _am I smiling?_

He was so full; he felt _so much_ ; he felt, and he felt, and he felt, and he couldn't stop _feeling_.

A stinging in his scalp – familiar tug on his hair – 

Through his own hoarse voice in his ear, he heard another, "Come for me. C'mon, come with me, you're close, I know you are –" 

He caught air in his lungs, mouth working around nothing –

"Gonna come, come with me, Hazza –"

Harry sobbed, dry and helpless –

"My good boy, you've been so good, just – here, like this – do it – "

Harry jerked and cried out and came against the sheets, suspended by Nick's hand in his hair, and the pulsing inside him, sudden and _full_. He saw white and he shook all over, every single part of him coming undone, spilling out onto the sheets, oozing out like ectoplasm.

He felt things after that, things that happened, possibly to him. Things like Nick sagging down behind him, then slowly pulling the dildo out, then himself. Harry thought that happened, maybe. Floating on a cloud somewhere above this bed, he was carefully unfolded, his wrists released. Gently, he was turned over – the ceiling was dark, thick blinds on the windows allowing for the smallest amount of light from outside – and then something cold and wet touched him, then retreated. He floated some more, he thought he might have been humming. Some time later, he lay on his stomach, on the soft, damp sheets, felt a careful cool touch between his legs, washing him clean.

And the whole time, a voice spoke to him, murmuring, until he could make out the individual words, and the voice transformed into an achingly familiar one, calling his own name.

"C'mon. Harry, pet, come back to me… Harry, Haz… That's it, come on…"

Harry shook his head and opened his eyes. He was sort of cold and shaking a little. He blinked and Nick's room came back into focus. Nick was petting his hair, and the pillow felt weird until he realised it wasn't a pillow but Nick's chest. They were under covers – why was he so cold? 

"Nick?" His voice was fucking shot to hell. It hurt to talk. A lot.

"I'm here, baby." Nick was whispering, and Harry wondered if that was because he, too, couldn't really talk. "How are you?"

Harry shuffled around until he could see Nick's face. "I – dunno. Did I black out?"

Nick was frowning, biting his lip. "No, you just sort of – went under. I think. I was – it sort of freaked me out a bit, to be honest."

Harry thought about it. He didn't feel freaked out, just cold and a little empty. "How long?"

"Not too long, but enough for me to have a bit of a panic and then talk myself out of it again."

Harry couldn't help grinning. "You're so weird. You had a panic?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Yes, Harold, I had a bit of a panic because I fucked my boyfriend until he became a headcase whilst he was tied up in my bed."

Harry felt himself flushing – absurd, really, considering. He buried his nose in Nick's chest hair for a bit before responding. He was so sore, it was like whiplash. "Did you – was that okay?"

He couldn't quite see Nick's face from this angle, but he could certainly tell nowadays when Nick was rolling his eyes at him. But, thing was – he needed to know. 

"Seriously," Harry said and lifted up enough to rest his chin on Nick's chest. "Did you – did you like it?"

He was less cold now, and maybe it was the covers, and maybe it was Nick's hand, a constant presence on his back, slow, smooth, warm movements. Nick's face was serious, a rare enough sight. Harry tried to put a word to how he felt right here, in this moment. All he could think was, _safe._

"I think I need to think about that," Nick said, and smoothed away some of Harry's fringe off his face. Harry's stomach plummeted, just a bit. It must have shown on his face, because Nick immediately added, "I did, Harry. I loved it. But I don't – what did _you_ think?"

Harry didn't need to think about it. "It was – I loved it, too. I –" Words, what were words? He needed words. He screwed up his eyes. "It was like nothing I'd – like, it hurt?" He caught Nick's worried gaze. "It hurt at first, but then it – it felt amazing. It was – I loved you – doing that. I loved and – and _hated_ not being able to have a say or move, really." It was so hard to explain. He tried, anyway. Nick was waiting him out, which was a nice side effect of having a reputation for telling long and meandering stories. "Like – I want more. It didn't hurt after a while, either, it was just – it was good, and it wasn't –" He picked each word out carefully, like going through a bowl of blueberries that had a few bad ones in there. He had to pick out just the right ones. "It wasn't what I'd expected. I hadn't expected to, like – feel out of body. But I did? I – hey, wait." He sat up a bit. "Did I sing N'Sync at one point?"

Nick bit his lip, clearly attempting to fruitlessly stifle a smile. "You sort of hummed some weird shit at one point. Was that N'Sync? Excellent choice of soundtrack."

Harry smacked him on the side before settling back down onto his chest. "Shut it, it was – there was a –" Yeah, there was no way to explain that one. He switched topics. "Anyway, it was like – like a drug, almost. I didn't want to come because I wanted it to last forever. But, like – the thing is – I liked you being – like that." It felt hard to say. Despite everything, despite what they'd done before, what they'd _just_ done, it was hard to form the words. He lowered his voice. "Liked you being in charge of me. Like that."

Nick covered one of Harry's hands with his own. Harry had long fingers, but Nick's dwarfed his, long and thin and once more a little childish in their movements. He loved those hands, and focused on them now. "I liked it, too. It's – sort of weird, isn't it?" Nick asked. 

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. If we both liked it, why's it weird?"

Nick shrugged himself, then ran a hand through his deflated hair, raking it up and in all sorts of directions. He was flushed, Harry could see that even in the dark. His necklace glinted for a moment when a car drove past and the lights swept over the room. Nick was watching him, carefully, like he didn't want to spook him. "I guess not if we both liked it." He paused a moment. "Would you – would you want to – do that again? Not, like – the whole double thing, not, like, all the _time_ , but – you know. Subbing. For me."

Harry got a special hot shiver down his arms and spine at that. Subbing. They hadn't put a name to it when they'd started, just sort of – implied it, really. Got him a safe word. Got themselves in the mind-frame. But. "Yeah. I would," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. He didn't resist it. "I really, really would." 

God, the things he wanted to try now. He wanted Nick to command him in all kinds of ways, it'd been so hot. He needed to start a list, come to think of it. A secret, things-I-want-done-to-me-by-my-boyfriend list.

"Yeah?" Nick also wasn’t resisting his smile. "Cool." 

"Yeah," Harry grinned wider, leaned up, disregarding the soreness in, seriously, every single muscle he had, and kissed Nick's lips. God, he loved kissing him after they'd fucked. There was a taste to it. Tangy, musky. It was ridiculously hot. "Cool."

Nick grinned against his mouth and settled a tender hand on the low of Harry's back. It felt like a promise. 

***


End file.
